


Winter Returning

by Fatespeaker



Series: Wings of Fire: Changing Seasons [2]
Category: Wings of Fire - Tui T. Sutherland
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, IceWings (Wings of Fire)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22062559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatespeaker/pseuds/Fatespeaker
Summary: A week before Icicle's trial, Winter returns to the Ice Kingdom for a very awkward visit. Tensions are high. Old conflicts have resurfaced. As much as this prickly ex-prince wants to avoid the past, it keeps coming back to bite him. With his tribe still reeling from the recent disaster, his family destroyed, and a complicated friendship to deal with, Winter is left picking up the pieces of his old life... and discovering hope for a new one.(Takes place right after Darkness of Dragons. Originally published on Fanfiction.net in 2017.)
Series: Wings of Fire: Changing Seasons [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1852768
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. Familiar Skies

Winter couldn't help wondering why it had to be this way. Why did he have to hate returning to this place that, for nearly his entire life, he had called home? Why did he have to dread confronting the dragons who were supposed to be his family? Why did he have to plaster on a fake smile the whole time?

Why did he even bother coming here?

Okay, he knew the answer to that last question. Icicle's trial was to be held in barely more than a week. Indestructible family ties and primal curiosity had forced him to accept the invitation. _She's still my sister_ , he reasoned, _and this is still my tribe. Even if both are utterly deplorable._ He squashed all of his confusion, fear, and anger with that simple, bitter thought.

A light snowfall had begun. He glanced up and saw that the sky was sarcastically beautiful today. Delicate flakes of snow fluttered all around him, dusting the blue tinge of his scales with hints of brighter white. He glared down at the ground.

As he neared the First Circle, painful memories began to resurface in his mind. He couldn't stop them, no matter how hard he tried. _This is where Lynx and I hunted together. That's where Icicle caught a caribou. Hailstorm got lost in those mountains._

The familiar landscape rolled on beneath him. Winter felt a building sense of frustration.

He beat his wings faster. Better to get the awkward arrival out of the way as soon as possible. Then he could hole himself up in his room (it would probably be the smallest one in the palace, to make him feel extra insulted), and spend the next week avoiding everyone he used to know.

Ahead, the shimmering palace glowered at him like an angry mother. Winter spotted several IceWings darting about in its courtyard and circling above. He flew toward the gates - once so beautiful to him, now just another obstacle - and prepared himself for more unpleasantness.

The fresh layer of snow cushioned his landing. If he were in a better mood, he would have appreciated the comforting feeling of cold between his claws. As it was, though, his nerves prevented him from seeing the good in anything.

Three guards stood in front of him. Winter blinked, surprised. He looked at the rest of the palace, the tall towers and walls, and saw more lower class dragons stationed everywhere. _Interesting_ , he thought, _I guess Snowfall is more paranoid than her mother._ Did the rest of the tribe approve of this change?

"You're...Winter?" the shortest guard asked. Four silver circles gleamed on her necklace, showing that she was the highest ranked of the guards. She stared at Winter as if he had a penguin sitting on his head, her voice dwindling as she spoke his now title-less name.

Behind his fixed expression, Winter shared her confusion. _So I'm just Winter? I guess that's simpler than Former-prince-who-left-but-wasn't-exiled-but-basically-was Winter. What am I suppose to do now, bow to a fourth circle dragon?_ He nodded his head curtly. "Yes."

The guard quickly turned to her two companions, pointing her tail at the silvery-scaled one. "Ptarmigan, you will show him to his room." She then looked back at Winter, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. Winter wondered if she was remembering his funeral ceremony, since only a few months ago everyone had thought he was dead.

He frowned at her until she finally dipped her head to him. Maybe he was rankless, but he wasn't without _some_ dignity.

"This way, uh, Winter," Ptarmigan said, faltering just as the other guard had. Winter followed the meek IceWing through one of the central courtyards, past an ice sculpture garden, and up a winding staircase toward a room at the top of one of the northern towers.

Winter stared at the dancing designs that had been carved into the lavender-stained ice of the tower's inner walls. Surely this was one of the palace's finest parts. Why in Pyrrhia's name was he being invited to stay here? His brow furrowed at the sight of the door's rich, imported wood. He recognized that door.

"Wait." Winter stopped Ptarmigan, who was already trying to rush off. "This is Flurry's room! There's been a mix up."

Ptarmigan shuffled his wings awkwardly. "No, no, this is yours." He glanced away and added, in a quieter voice, "Flurry was recently banished to the Outer Circles. There was an, uh, a scandal with a servant..."

"Oh." Winter went to try the doorknob, hiding his outraged expression from the guard. Then he remembered that, since he was no longer a prince, he probably owed the other dragon something like a bow or a nod or a 'thank you'. He turned around, but Ptarmigan had vanished down the stairs.

 _One of the best rooms in the palace_ , he thought bitterly, stomping into what would be his home for the week, _and it still feels like fire in my face._

* * *

As much as Winter wanted to keep feeling offended, he had to admit that it was a nice room.

Its previous owner had been a great patron of the arts. Winter recalled visiting the eccentric noble a few years ago. His mother had given Flurry one of Winter's grandfather's paintings in exchange for some political favor, and decided to let Winter and Icicle witness the transaction. _Trading family heirlooms for status. True IceWing values, right there_ , Winter thought, determined to stay sour.

Back then, this large, circular room had been filled with beautiful artwork. Elegant statues, intricate tapestries, tasteful paintings. Most of that was gone now, probably given back to the queen in the wake of Flurry's disgrace. Even the boring old thing that Tundra had given Flurry was missing.

All that was left of the once magnificent collection were the embroidered curtains, a faded purple rug, a writing desk, and a lonely glass sculpture of a tern.

The room itself was a work of art, with walls of smooth, precisely carved ice and a glittering pattern of fractals on its ceiling. Winter, however, couldn't care less about the architecture.

He paced around a few times, regretting his decision to come here and feeling very sorry for himself. He closed the curtains and straightened out the rug. He glared the little glass bird. It was lopsided and remarkably ugly.

Realizing how pathetic he was acting, Winter tried distract himself. He sat down at the desk and was pleased to find a some parchment and ink left in one of its drawers. There were no quills. Fortunately, Winter had picked up on the SeaWing habit of using his claws for writing.

He focused on his plans for Sanctuary, specifically the ones related to scavengers. The idea of creating his own habitat for them was exciting, but also daunting. Winter knew that there was much more research to be done before they could start bringing in scavengers. _Still_ , he thought, _it wouldn't hurt to draw up some sketches._

A rectangle enclosure? It would have to be bigger than that. How much water did they need? How much forest? If only he had thought to bring his notes!

Winter balled up his piece of parchment and threw it on the floor. It rolled unceremoniously across the fancy rug. Usually his scavenger project was his go-to cure for stress. Clearly nothing was going to help him now. _Not while I'm surrounded by dragons who hate me and waiting to see if my sister is executed_ , he reasoned pessimistically.

He went to the western window and peeked through the curtains. The sky had stubbornly stayed bright blue. Maybe once it was dark, he could slip out for a brief flight.

 _Or_ , he thought, _I could visit Lynx and Hailstorm. Is there anyone else who might not hate me?_ His mother's face flitted briefly through his mind, before fading with a twinge of sadness. He sighed. _Nope. Short list._

He went to pick up the wadded parchment, a gloomy look settling on his face. This was going to be a very long week.


	2. Overcast

The next morning was lonely. What a surprise.

Winter had been in worse situations before: brainwashed, bruised up, literally set on fire. But almost every one of those times, his friends had been there to get him through it. Now he had no one. He was trapped in the middle of his own tribe.

 _You could always write to them_ , offered his annoyingly correct voice of reason.

No, that wasn't an option. He had enough on his mind with Icicle's trial on its way. Also, though he couldn't admit it to himself, he had grown increasingly separate from his Jade Mountain Academy friends. It wasn't like he saw very much of them. He wasn't even part of the school anymore.

 _Besides_ , he told himself, _they wouldn't understand. None of them know what it's like here! How bad it is, how crazy the dragons are! Kinkajou will just say something like "stay cheeeerful ha ha!", Qibli will make a stupid joke, and Turtle will get all sad and drag me into his own crisis._

There was a pause, a blank space in a his thoughts. He didn't think of _her_. He wasn't ready for that yet.

He shook himself and stretched his wings. The dark atmosphere of this room certainly wasn't helping. Forcing himself not to wallow in it, he went to each window and pulled the curtains open.

The dawn's light was muted by a new scattering of clouds. Winter curiously looked up at the sky and saw that it was overcast. Gray and white beginnings of a storm had appeared to rebel against the sun. He wondered if one of the Ice Kingdom's infamous blizzards was on its way.

At least the sky suited the mood now. Winter gloomily headed over to the fancy desk. _I could send a letter to Sanctuary._ He was very eager for more news of the project, but he eventually decided against it. Better to just wait for Riptide to write to him.

What had Fatespeaker once told him to do? Write poetry? _No way_ , he thought, not even considering it. That would prove he had finally lost his marbles.

Drawing! That was a sensible art, much more sane than writing wishy-washy rhymes about his feelings. He pulled out the last sheets of parchment, and stared at them, waiting for inspiration.

Winter drummed his claws on the top of the writing desk. Click, click, click. If he was scratching the old ice, he didn't care.

Before an idea could come to him, a dragon did. Someone knocked on his door.

He froze. No messenger would come this early. _Maybe it's Mother_ , he thought, _here to yell at me for besmirching the family name. Or a dragon involved with the trial. Or..._

They knocked again, louder this time. Winter quickly tried to gain some composure. He set his face with a dour, frowning look, ready for whoever had come to bother him, and stalked toward the door. Slowly, reluctantly, he opened it. "Hello?"

Lynx stood in front him.

* * *

His old friend's face lit up the moment he greeted her. Apparently she was so used to his scowling that she no longer noticed it. Oddly sweet, in a certain way.

"Winter!" she exclaimed. He stepped aside and she entered his room. Smiling, she said, "It's been forever since we last saw each other! I thought for sure you wouldn't even come." She quickly added, "But I'm really glad you're here."

As much as he still missed his old friend, Winter rarely saw her now. They had last met during Winter's aid mission to the villages of the lower circles. Even then, Winter had been too busy passing out supplies to share any real conversation with Lynx, so there was still a lot left unsaid between them.

"Of course I came," Winter replied. _Me? Miss another chance to be ostracized?_ his thoughts added sarcastically. He held his tongue because he didn't want to ruin the moment.

Lynx looked around. Her eyes widened when she saw the little pieces of finery. "Wow, this place is great."

Winter nodded glumly. He wondered where Lynx's room was, now that she had secured a good place in the rankings.

"So," Lynx said, stopping in front of the eastern window, "how's it going?"

 _How do you_ think _it's going?_ Winter wanted to growl back. Instead, he muttered, "As good as it can. I'm only here for the week."

Lynx shook her head sadly. "I wish we could all just...go back to before, you know? And have fun together. Oh, remember when we were little?!" The faint light fell on her in a most peculiar way, contrasting her blue speckles with the white glow of the rest of her scales.

She looked at him. Her face seemed different now, and Winter suspected that his seemed different to her. Maybe it was the fact that Winter no longer snapped back at everything she said. Maybe it was the way that she looked him straight in the eye.

Winter stepped forward. "Do you want to go hunting?" he asked. "Like old times?" He realized that this would ruin his plan of staying inside. Strangely, he didn't mind that.

"I'm sorry," Lynx said, shifting uncomfortably, "but I have to talk to the council today. I'm going to speak at Icicle's trial. Snowfall insists on it."

"Oh." Winter hoped that she couldn't see his frustration. Even here, during a casual conversation with his friend, his family matters had to get in the way. _I'll have to speak too_ , he thought darkly. _I'll have to help them condemn my sister._

Lynx winced. "I wish I could stay longer. There's so much to tell you!"

She started toward the door, and Winter felt a tug in his heart.

"I'll see you later," she promised. "Tomorrow, maybe?" Her freckled cheeks were dimpled by a bright smile.

Winter smiled back. Seeing her overjoyed face, her dusk-blue eyes, he could almost forget how miserable he was suppose to be. It was as if she had pushed a blanket of clouds away and exposed a brilliant morning sky. He felt happy and confused.

He thought about Lynx even after she had left. Loneliness came again, but it no longer seemed so bad. He returned to the writing desk and began a rough portrait sketch of his friend.

* * *

Now that the world was considerably less terrible than before, Winter remembered the one place in the Ice Kingdom that he wanted to see.

The tree of light. He couldn't wait to fly around it, and maybe pluck one of the ancient moon globes. Though the rest of the IceWing Palace seemed changed and dreary, he was sure that his favorite place would look just as beautiful as it had when he was hatchling.

He checked the window first, to make sure that no one important was outside. No shocked nobles or backhanded comments from Third Circle dragons were going to ruin this outing for him.

Something else entirely did.

It took a moment for Winter remember which way the gifts of light and order were. _Ice and snow, I'm forgetting my whole life_ , he thought. He stepped out of his tower of self-imposed solitude and looked around at the rest of the palace.

He spotted the Snowfox Pavilion nearby and used that as a landmark. There was an out of the way corridor that he could walk through to the central courtyard from here. Icicle had once chased him through it, threatening to kill a scavenger in front of him. _Good times_ , Winter recalled bitterly.

A few First Circle dragonets crossed paths with him. They barely even noticed Winter, too occupied with their own conversation to care about his infamy. There were a few lingering glances, then they all went on with their busy schedule. Winter saw that a few of them were still wearing Qibli's enchanted earrings. _So Snowfall's not the only one still worried about Darkstalker._

_I wonder what happened to him. I wonder why they never told me. Some friends they are._

Winter gritted his teeth. Nothing like a trip through an unwelcoming home to reopen other old wounds.

The passageway opened up into a long, narrow courtyard. It was noticeably cleaner and prettier than the last one. The closer one got to the royal dwellings, the more important everything was. A statue of a young Queen Glacier, symbolic falcons perched beside her, gazed serenely down at Winter as he passed. It must have been new, since Winter would have remembered how creepily lifelike it was. He was glad that it had a friendly expression; at least it looked like a _nice_ ghost.

As he approached a series of ice arches, he heard footsteps echoing from another corridor.

"You must understand how very sssssad this makes me."

Snowfall's voice, piercing yet pompously slow, made Winter's spines raise with alarm. He hadn't spoken to Snowfall since she had officially cut him off from his tribe. Not exactly a pleasant experience. _Guess I'm taking an even longer route_ , Winter decided with a sigh.

Just as he was preparing to bolt, he heard another familiar voice. It stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Please, consider it, Your Majesty. It's only for your benefit. If Icicle - "

Winter refused to believe his ears. That defeated whine couldn't really be his brother, could it? Hailstorm, for all his distant, dejected times, never begged like a peasant. Seized by cruel curiosity, Winter inched closer to the two talking dragons.

"My benefit." Snowfall tossed her head back and sneered. "So this has nothing to do with the fact that she's your sister. Suuuure."

"No, my queen!" Hailstorm began, forcing Winter to realize that it was him. "Let me stand for Icicle. I'll invoke the old laws. I'll do anything. Please."

Winter felt like someone had just slammed their tail into his stomach. If there had been anything left inside of him, he would have puked.

Hailstorm sucking up to Snowfall? Winter was dismayed to hear his older brother, who he had respected for so long, talking to anyone like that. Then there was the even deeper insult, the extra layer of revulsion, that came from the fact that it was _Snowfall_. Spoiled, cheating, rotten Queen Snowfall!

A vile feeling crept around Winter's heart and latched onto it like a fat, slimy Mud Kingdom leech. He hated her - he hadn't realized it until now, until he had to listen to Hailstorm's pathetic pleading and Snowfall's awful purr. He hated this. More than that, he was disgusted by it.

"The tribe will not approve," Snowfall stated simply, "so I will not." Her short reply still managed to sound calculating and cold.

Hailstorm pleas became even more desperate. "Snowfall. Your Majesty. I adore you. I'm begging you. Don't let her die. I can't let her die."

Winter's former queen and current brother entered the courtyard. Not wanting to face either of them, Winter ducked behind the base of one of the grand arches. The spines on his back scraped against the ice as he pressed himself against it. He still couldn't move or even look away.

"Hmm." Snowfall smirked. Everything about her repulsed Winter. "Okay, I'll _think_ about this, Hailstorm." She looked at her companion as if he were a pile of pelts, to be used and then eventually discarded.

Hailstorm turned from Snowfall, his eyes lowered deferentially. The word appeared in Winter's head again: pathetic.

Without thinking, Winter's tail twitched and hit the ice behind him. Hailstorm's eyes flashed in his direction, and Winter was finally broken out of his trance. He scrambled backwards and flung his wings up to hide his face. Praying to every snowflake in the sky that he hadn't been recognized, he made a mad dash for his tower. _Spying on Snowfall! What did I just do? Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He breathlessly flung himself up the spiraling stairs. The walls seemed tight around him.

He entered his room. Underneath his panicked thoughts, a revolting word echoed. _Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic._ He slammed the door behind himself, and it rattled on its hinges.

* * *

Winter spent the rest of the day trying to finish his portrait of Lynx. He restarted it several times. None of the lines ever looked right to him.

As night fell, he became terribly aware of how dark his room was. He wished for a nightlight. _I should have gone to the tree of light_ , Winter scolded himself, _instead of overreacting and running like a dragonet. What's wrong with me? A sensitive little seal, that's what they would all call me. Hailstorm, Icicle, Mother, Father..._

Now he felt guilty. He remembered that his father's monument was probably done by now, and that he hadn't visited it or even thought about it.

 _Whatever. No use crying over the cracked ice._ It wasn't like he could do anything now. Even without going to the windows, he knew that the sun had set.

Guards would be patrolling the palace, making sure that no visiting ex-princes or restless young nobles broke curfew. Especially now, with Snowfall so worried about her safety. There would probably be a whole battalion's worth of extra guards about. _The royal chambers must be swarming with them. Snowfall..._

He remembered what he had overheard. He pictured Snowfall's smug, mocking smile, and suddenly his earlier reaction no longer seemed foolish. Hatred rose up in him, even fiercer than before. He tried to breathe it out in a puff of frostbreath. All that did was ruin a corner of the fancy rug and make him feel even worse.

Winter fell asleep full of confusion and anger. Not a very good recipe for dreams.

* * *

His scales were melting. His lungs were filled with smoke. Winter was burning.

It started out as a memory of colliding with Peril, a familiar flash of shock in his side. But this time, Turtle wasn't there to save him. This time, he was screaming and plummeting toward the ground with no one there to catch him or put out the flames. Everything was numb, too hurt to even feel pain, and that was the worst part of all.

That and falling. Falling and falling, and knowing that no dragon would care when he slammed into the earth and scorched it.

When he woke up, he was bathed in moonlight. The clouds had parted to reveal two almost-full moons. Silver poured down through both windows and into his glittering room. It shimmered over his pale face. He thought about another dragon. She was very far away. He thought about the stars on her wings and the color of her eyes, green like the northern sea.

_She never told you why._

The sharp night air stung his face. Winter rose and closed the curtains. He spent the next hour staring into the darkness of his room, scared of falling asleep.


	3. Early Frost

Winter woke up to the sound of knocking. Visions of orange fire and green eyes still chased each other around in his thoughts. His pulse pounded in his head, and the dragon outside continued to pound on his door.

 _Lynx?_ he wondered hopefully. When he thought of his friend, his nightmares no longer seemed so real. A visit from her might be just what he needed.

He stumbled over to the door, still half dreaming, and opened it a little too eagerly.

Of course, he was disappointed. Winter considered himself an expert at being disappointed.

"A letter, sir," the servant outside croaked. She looked older than him, maybe around the dragonets of destiny's age, but she cowered meekly like all of the lowest servants. The circles on her necklace showed that she was just barely privileged enough to live here. Despite the fact that this still technically ranked her above Winter, she bowed to him anyway.

Still half-caught in his dreams, Winter snatched the scroll from her and glared at its seal. It took a moment for him to recognize it. _The Talons of Peace's symbol! Must be Riptide._ His expression relaxed a bit. "Thank you," he said.

He shut the door and quickly unrolled the message. It was silly, but the crinkle of paper made him smile. He knew that this news, good or bad, came from a friend.

_To Winter,_

_I have no idea if this will reach you in the Ice Kingdom. I contacted some old Talons with ties to the palace. I think your tribe is still after them. Don't tell anyone about this letter._

_Anyway, Sanctuary is going well! Those SkyWings I called hoity-toitys are actually really nice. One even offered to help with your scavenger project. Don't worry, he's definitely not going to eat them. On the other talon, I'm still keeping an eye on that trio of SandWings. No suspicious activity lately. But you can never be too careful._

_There's word from the Jade Mountain that Tsunami and a few of her students are going to visit soon. Will you be back within the next few weeks? I can do their tour myself if you're too busy, so no pressure._

_It was risky to send this, but I figured you would have wanted to know about that. Have fun with your snowballs and politics._

_(My kingdom sucks too. Hang in there.)_

_\- Riptide_

As Winter read the letter, he drifted over to his fancy writing desk. So he still had _one_ friend who cared enough to write him. He glanced over the scroll a second time, then rolled it back up and set it down on the desk.

It took him a minute to jot off a quick reply, something along the lines of _I'm busy, but thanks for telling me_ , with his usual formalities and rushed signature at the end. He considered searching for a messenger and decided to wait another day.

He gazed back at the door and steeled himself. There was something else that had to be done. Deep in the swirling storm of his heart, Winter knew that he had to stop procrastinating. Today, he would visit his father's memorial.

* * *

On the day of Narwhal's funeral, the sky had been blue and crystal clear.

Winter remembered that sky, remembered wishing that the weather had the decency to become cloudy and sad for Narwhal's memory. Instead, as if just to spite him, the world had turned gorgeously bright and cold.

_Even as the funeral service droned on and on, none of the mourners moved. Not a word or wing or perfectly polished claw was out of place._

_Queen Snowfall, wearing a new silver crown, spread her wings wide and thanked Narwhal for his bravery. She had dropped her snobby attitude and was acting severe for once, but strutted off with her usual haughtiness once her speech was done._

_That left Hailstorm and Tundra standing at the center of the gathered IceWings. They were to say a few final words over Narwhal's body. Now an outsider, not even worthy of a glance from the queen, Winter was to watch from the side and say nothing._

_Winter could not participate in the ceremony. He was no longer part of the tribe, and not even in mourning did the IceWings break their traditions. He stood at the outer edge of the assembly, lonely as ever, while his mother and brother carried on with the funeral rites._

_He couldn't see very much over the rows of dragons in front of him. Each row was composed of dragons from a different circle, with the highest ranked ones closest to the center. The funeral, Winter noted with a touch of morbidity, was like a mirror of the palace._

_Tundra had traded her necklace of SkyWing teeth for a black ribbon of mourning, decorated with a single scale from her late partner's chest. It rested, glistening sadly, upon her white chest. She had hidden all of her sorrow away, replaced it with a blank expression, because it was considered low and dishonorable to weep in front of other IceWings._

_"Prince Narwhal," Tundra said in her unwavering voice, "was the noblest of IceWings, a courageous warrior, and the most faithful..."_

_Winter shamefully tried to tune out her words. He didn't want to hear the painful truth. Everyone was facing forward, watching Tundra, but it felt like they were all secretly wondering about Winter. Guessing at what he would do now. What_ could _he possibly do, after betraying them to waste the rest of his years as an outcast?_

 _Trying to stay presentable, Winter avoided making eye contact with anyone. He looked at the lifeless body that the crowd was so fixated on. The father who would never speak to him again._ I failed him. I failed my family. And now...

_Hailstorm's tall figure shifted, catching Winter's eye. Winter made the mistake of glancing at his brother's face. It was distant, lost, and so terribly lonely._

_For the rest of the ceremony, Winter watched Hailstorm. But Hailstorm didn't look back at him, not even once. Winter had never felt so helpless._

* * *

Narwhal had been lucky enough to die a heroic death, so the Ice Kingdom was forced to forget his mistakes (those two mistakes were named Icicle and Winter) and honor him with a special courtyard.

As a dragonet, Winter had dreamed of earning something like this. It had seemed like only the best, bravest IceWings got them. Now, with his new skill in discernment, Winter knew that it mostly came down to luck. Narwhal had been the first IceWing killed by a NightWing in that fateful battle. If, instead of Narwhal, it had been some other random noble, then that other random noble would have had his or her name slapped on a plaque.

 _My father is dead._ Somehow, standing here in Narwhal's corner of the palace, Winter began to make sense of those four words.

The circular space had few decorations. Most of it was covered in snow, undisturbed by any footprints except for Winter's. A hastily erected ice sculpture stood on a pedestal of white quartz. Its features, just detailed enough so that it could be recognized as Narwhal, were lifeless and plain.

The sky had cleared a little, allowing light to fall across the statue's face and turn its placid expression into one of boredom. At least it wasn't angry with Winter, as the real Narwhal would have been.

Winter tilted his head back and stared into its blank eyes. That was not what his father looked like. He walked in a half-circle around the courtyard until he spied the little label in front of the statue. With a shaking talon, he brushed the fresh layer of snow off of it.

He had tried to push the truth out of his head, to force himself into denial, but here was the proof. Written in the ice.

TO NARWHAL  
FOR HIS SACRIFICE TO THE KINGDOM

No flowery language, glorious tales about the fallen dragon, or sympathy for anyone he had left behind. Just two lines of words that got straight to the point.

Winter looked down at them, then up at the statue again. It was plainly and cruelly honest. _You father is dead,_ the bored face seemed to assure him.

Remembering Narwhal's funeral, Winter felt nothing. Then he felt terrible for feeling nothing. He didn't hate his father - he couldn't, even if his tribe was infamous for holding grudges.

But so much had happened since then, and so many conflicted feelings still warred in Winter whenever he thought of his family. Better to push those aside, freeze them off in the back of his mind. Even now, as he tried to be a dutiful son and grieve, his memories pulled him back to the day of the Diamond Trial. He didn't know how he was supposed to react to any of this.

 _He was going to let me die._ Bitterness rose up in Winter again. It tasted like bile. _He was going to let Hailstorm kill me. Should I hate him for that? Should I forgive him?_

A new sort of empty, yearning sadness fell over him.

He stood there, in his father's faint shadow, for so long that he didn't notice when another dragon entered the courtyard. Only when she started toward him did he hear her light footsteps in the snow. His heart seized for a moment. He turned slowly, already knowing that it was his mother.

Tundra drifted across the snow. Everything about her, from her tightly furled wings to her dangerously calm face, was cold. Her bloodstained battle prizes hung at her neck again. That meant she was officially done with her mourning.

She slowed down to frown at the statue of her husband, then finally stopped in front of Winter. Her gaze settled just above his eyes - somewhere around his horns, and her coldness seemed to infect him.

He straightened his wings and nodded to her perfunctorily. _Don't stutter. Don't stutter. By the great glaciers, don't stutter._ "Mother," he stated. He remembered being a one-year-old dragonet and cowering before her.

Tundra peered down at her youngest child as if she wanted to crush him. "Winter," she replied, her frown deepening. Her whole face tightened with displeasure as she said his name.

Winter wasn't sure if this made him more afraid, more angry, or both. He looked back at Tundra and remained impressively stoic.

"There will be an informal dinner," Tundra said, "tonight in the Northeast Hall." Her voice dropped significantly as she added, "We will be discussing Icicle's trial."

A mix of panic and frustration hit Winter. Before he could even dare get his hopes up about reconnecting with his family, the Icicle problem returned with a vengeance. Her trial loomed closer than ever now. _There's no way she'll be freed. Everyone knows she's guilty. The trial's just a courtesy..._

Tundra's gaze met his for a startling moment, and a silent question passed between them: _Do you want to redeem yourself?_

Winter blinked back at her in disbelief. Since his exile, Tundra had treated him with nothing but disdain, disgust, and (of course) disappointment. This sparkle of hope, a chance to win back some kind of love, came completely out of the blue.

Despite everything she had done to him, including the Diamond Trial, he wanted that chance. Craved it, even. Tundra was his only remaining parent. It was obviously too late to fix anything with Narwhal, so maybe Winter could still do right by her.

"I would like you to be there," Tundra concluded simply, then gave him a slight nod and went on her way. She didn't even wait for him to reply.

As Winter watched his mother go, shame wrapped around him like a burning wing. He had ruined his family. And his family had ruined him too, he supposed.

_We will be discussing Icicle._

A shiver passed through him. The quake before an avalanche.

* * *

Winter walked slowly along an unpopular pathway. Everything seemed eerily silent. Being confronted by the mother you let down in a million ways tends to numb a dragon.

The palace itself had become wrong to him. All Winter could think about was Hailstorm's description of it during Darkstalker's plague. These very halls might had been filled with bodies, piled like white drifts of snow.

 _Wow, that was a creepy thought._ Winter shook his head. Now he was weirding himself out. He should have known that returning here would do more harm than good.

Winter tried to find something to appreciate. He even took a detour to see the Gift of Elegance, with its little snowflake patterns shimmering as excessively prettily as ever. All it made him feel was an unsettling twist in his gut. _I don't belong here. I don't deserve to be here._

He hurried off in the direction of his tower, unsure of whether or not he really wanted to be there. Either way, he expected to spend the rest of the day alone in the gloom of that room.

* * *

Someone was waiting outside of his door.

Winter stopped abruptly. "Lynx?" he exclaimed with a stupid, shocked look on his face.

"Winter!" She stepped back and fiddled her wings, but her smile looked genuine. "I was just stopping by to say hi again. How's your day been?"

 _Worse than the time I was barbecued alive_ , Winter thought. He shortened his reply to, "I'm fine."

Remembering his manners, Winter held the door open and nodded for her to come in. He did his best to look poised and graceful, like the IceWing noble he had once been. She treated him so kindly, and he felt a sudden need to impress her.

Lynx stepped onto the purple rug and glanced down. If she noticed the new frostbreath damage Winter had caused, she didn't comment on it.

"I hope those villagers are doing okay," she said, easily changing the subject, "the ones you were helping back when I ran into you."

Winter thought about the lower circle dragons he had met during those months. Some had left a bigger mark on his memory that others. He remembered a few names: Pasque, Everest, Subzero. Most of them, however, he had already forgotten. He'd been in a rather bad mood back then, still fixated on his heartbreak, and hadn't really been able to focus.

"I've been working on getting more supplies to them," Lynx went on, "but most of us still aren't too keen on helping anyone below the First Circle." She sat down on his ledge of ice and made herself comfortable. "The whole world seems bigger now, Winter. That spell the SeaWing princess cast...wow! It really opened my eyes. Maybe that's a good sign. Maybe this place will get kinder."

Winter shrugged. "Wouldn't that be great," he said. He was too tired to try to hide his bitterness.

Much as he wanted to believe her, the Ice Kingdom's traditions were frozen as solid as the bricks of ice in its palace. He doubted that the tribe would ever really improve.

Lynx fell silent. She studied him for a while, her expression becoming conflicted. Winter was a reminded of a different conversation with a different dragon, a dragon who could see every word in his mind. _No, not now, don't think about her._

"Winter..." Lynx stopped, sighed, and asked, "Winter, what happened to Darkstalker? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I just really, really want to know." She shuffled her wings and gave him a pleading look. "It's silly, I know, but I worry about it. And you saw how the tribe reacted. Even the queen - especially her! How did you guys stop him? Are we safe?"

Embarrassment burned white hot in Winter. "Well..." He trailed off and turned away from her.

"What?" Lynx pressed, aware of her own forwardness.

 _I could lie_ , Winter thought. _I could make myself sound like a hero. Three moons, all everyone in this tribe seems to do is lie!_

One look at Lynx, though, and he knew that he couldn't lie. Not to her. "Lynx, I don't know," he muttered.

Lynx became perplexed. She frowned at him, her dark eyes still full of curiosity. "You...don't know what happened?"

Winter glared past her at the patterns on the wall. "No," he growled. He let the whole story spill out; no use in keeping it from her now. "I wasn't there. I did nothing. My friends, Moon and Turtle and Kinkajou, they were the ones who defeated Darkstalker. _They_ saved the world. And apparently they don't trust me enough to tell me how." His throat became numb as he suppressed a breath of angry frost. "Apparently they think I'm just another sneaky IceWing who'll turn around and betray them."

"I don't know much about them - your other friends, I mean," Lynx admitted, "but if I were there, I would have told you."

Winter didn't know what to say, so he nodded his head and glanced at her gratefully.

"Winter," she said with a wince, "I'm not saying I know what exactly how you feel, because I don't. I don't know what you went through. I just know what it's like here, in the Circles. All the dragons competing with each other, stabbing other IceWings in the back. It got a little better, after Darkstalker's defeat, but nothing really changed. I feel like everyone's divided. Like we're on little icebergs by ourselves! All this scheming and lying. There's no one...no friend I can..."

"No one to trust," Winter finished. He knew that feeling. Every single IceWing who grew up in the palace knew it.

"Yeah." Lynx became quiet again. Her gaze drifted, to the left, to the right, to the floor. Then she looked at him. "Can I trust you, Winter?"

He answered without thinking. "Yes."

"Then be honest with me from now on!" She tapped him lightly with her tail. Her eyes widened and she grinned. "I have an idea. Wait for me tonight." As she left, she exclaimed, "No more lonely icebergs!"

"No more icebergs," Winter echoed softly. Then he realized how corny that sounded, cringed at himself, and covered his face with his wings. He almost smiled.

_Thank you, Lynx._

* * *

True to her word, Lynx showed up that night. At least one dragon in this rotten place was honest.

Darkness had only just fallen. Winter, who had done nothing but wait for her (it was a suitable way to ignore his problems), could have burst with happiness when the door creaked open and Lynx slipped into the room.

"Come on," she whispered, "the sky is beautiful tonight. You have to see it, Winter." She tugged at his wing with her talons.

He vaguely recalled a promise to his mother, a dinner that he was supposed to attend, then pushed that aside and let himself smile. He had spent his whole life worrying about his miserable family. _Can't I have some time with someone who actually cares about me?_

Winter followed Lynx down the stairs. She had already unfurled her wings, preparing to fly. Where her wingtips trailed over the icy walls, Winter noticed new colors and patterns that he hadn't appreciated before. It was like Lynx's presence drew beauty into everything around her.

Lynx turned to glance at him as they exited the tower. Her eyes gleamed, and though the darkness obscured her face, Winter caught suggestions of her moonlit features. Her gaze, reflecting the blue of the courtyard's faint lights, held his firmly. There was something reassuring written in the curve of her smile, but before Winter could wonder what that meant, she spread her wings fully and craned her neck toward the sky.

"Let's fly!" Lynx exclaimed. Her tail lashed with excitement.

Stopping her with a look of concern, Winter whispered, "The guards - "

"Guess who was in charge of tonight's patrols?" She laughed, then added in a hushed tone, "It's fine, really. I'll gladly lose my place at the royal table for some friendship and fresh air."

The penalty for sneaking out with an exile was probably a bit worse than that. Lynx, who must have known this, seemed fine with the risk, since she was already in the air. And Winter, to his own surprise, was already flying after her.

He closed his eyes to savor those first few moments of flight. The night air was frigid and wonderful in his lungs. It sent a chill right to his bones. His wings felt light as feathers. His heart drummed, faster and faster.

The palace, which had once looked vast and inescapable, became smaller and smaller below them. They soared over the night's low cover of clouds, and soon his biggest worries were nothing but a scattering of lights. Winter spotted the gentle glow of the Moon Globe Tree. Suddenly all the chaos in his life seemed to fade into the background. He whipped his head up to see Lynx smiling back at him.

Above them, the colors of the aurora unfurled. Green, blue, purple. Trails of light danced across the glittering black sky like lovestruck dragons. Lynx murmured something, too soft to hear.

They flew over miles of snowy hills. Watching the land pass below them, Winter had a rush of surprisingly pleasant memories. _This is where Hailstorm and I would go hunting! We used to track caribou over there._ He caught up to Lynx, and they soared together. The constantly shifting wind, perhaps a sign of an approaching storm, made flying both challenging and fun.

Soon they came to a clearing where, in the years past, they used to spar. _I used to always win_ , Winter remembered, _until Lynx figured out how to outsmart me. She was so proud of that. There's the rock I hit my snout on once! Ouch._

Those memories had once been bittersweet for Winter, tainted by the fact that he could never recapture them. But now, as he and Lynx flew in circles together, he forgot his sadness and felt only excitement.

Winter landed hurriedly, throwing powdery snow into the air. A powerful gust of wind hit him right in the face. Shaking, he looked up at Lynx and let out a rough laugh. He had forgotten how amazing it felt to be _cold_.

Lynx took a tumble and rolled to a stop beside him. "Isn't this perfect?!" she cried giddily. The pure joy in her voice was beautiful and foreign to Winter. Frost had formed all over her speckled scales, lacing them with glimmering streaks. Winter glanced down at his own wings and saw that he, too, had been kissed by ice.

Their talons buried deep in the soft, cold snow, they stood side by side under the endless stars. Winter recognized several constellations and squinted up at the twinkling shapes. There, at the jagged horizon, was the tail of the Great Glittering Fish. To the east was the wing of a legendary warrior. Overhead he spied three glimmering stars, almost in a straight line, called the Triplets. _Named after three siblings_ , he recalled with a pang.

A gentle breeze blew past them. The whole world seemed to vanish. There was nothing, no shame or dread or memory of a beautiful NightWing, that could trouble Winter now. The aurora and the stars and the moonlight on Lynx's freckled wings were all that mattered.

He had long since lost track of time. He could have been standing there for hours until, finally, Lynx touched his side with her wing and spoke.

"Come on," she said sheepishly, "we, uh, we should get back before dawn."

Winter nodded. His heart ached with the need to say something, to thank her, but by the time he worked up the nerve, she had taken to the sky again. He followed. He wanted to stay close to her.


	4. Cracking Ice

Suddenly awake, Winter almost rolled off the ice ledge that he called a bed. His dream had been a vivid memory, yet he did not feel as empty or sad as he usually did after reminiscing (that was a stupid, sappy thing to do, he reminded himself). The rumpled rug shifted underneath him as he stood up and looked around. Try as he might, he couldn't grasp what was so striking about the dream. All he could remember were bright, warm colors.

Morning sunlight flooded into his room, turned purple by the stained glass windows. Winter blinked against it. His stomach growled loudly.

Spending the whole week alone, behind his locked door, might have sounded good in theory, especially since he had a lot of friends-turned-enemies to avoid, but in practice it was much harder than he thought. The nagging emptiness in his belly was even worse than his empty heart. He needed to _eat_.

It was early enough in the morning that, if Winter left right now, he could probably slip out of the palace without being spotted by anyone unpleasant. There were clouds in the sky, but not too many. Despite his long flight last night, his wings didn't feel sore at all. It certainly wouldn't hurt him to go out and catch a seal or something.

And, he realized with an embarrassed twitch of his tail, he really wanted to see Lynx again.

He headed down the stairs of his tower, his scales tingling as he remembered descending them last night. _Above the clouds, a perfect sky. The endless stars. Lynx's laughter._ It all came back to him in a beautiful ache. Maybe his flight with Lynx was what made him feel so light and happy. He wondered where she was now, and if she was also thinking of their little escape.

Winter stepped out into the courtyard and stretched his wings. The sky overhead was clear lilac-blue, with a few playfully threatening clouds overhead. In the back of his busy mind, he noted how erratic the weather was. Hopefully Icicle's trial would be over and Winter would be back in Sanctuary by the time the winter storms blew in from the north.

He took to the sky and circled the palace a few times. He did his best to avoid the groups of patrolling guards and training dragonets who were also out and about.

To the south, the sky was relatively spotted a single dragon, a distant dash of white flying aimlessly, and made the mistake of choosing that direction. That was the way to the ocean, to a delicious breakfast of seals. He figured that, even if the dragon was someone he knew, they would probably want nothing to do with him.

Only when he had flown closer did he get a good look at the dragon's face. It was Hailstorm.

The silly, childish side of Winter almost convinced him to turn around and fly away. The mere sight of Hailstorm, even at this distance, reminded him of all the terrible things he was trying to avoid: his family, Icicle's trial, the gaping holes that those two problems had left in his heart. When he first spotted his brother, his wings seized in panic and he found himself searching for an escape route.

Soon enough, he came to his senses and put those angsty thoughts behind him. _He's my brother. I have to greet him_ , Winter reasoned. _Just because I'm a disgrace to my tribe doesn't mean I can avoid common courtesy._

"Winter!" Hailstorm cried as soon as he spotted Winter. A wary smile flickered across the older IceWing's face.

Winter forced himself to smile back. "Good morning, Hailstorm," he called out, his voice strained.

Hailstorm flew in a wide arc around him, then gestured with his talons toward the ground, asking that they both land. Winter reluctantly nodded. He avoided eye contact with Hailstorm as they spiraled down to the snow below.

"So," began Hailstorm. He stopped and stared at Winter for a few seconds, apparently unsure of what to say next. The abrupt silence was painfully awkward.

What _could_ Hailstorm have said next? _Hey, Winter, sorry for never catching up with you after you left our tribe. Also, sorry for being the reason why our sister AND our parents tried to kill you!_

Winter realized that his face was full of bitterness and made a minimal effort to hide it. "Sooooo," he said, dragging out the word, almost mocking how Hailstorm had said it, "are you okay?" It would be silly to ask something like _How are you doing?_ when Winter already knew the unpleasant answer.

"Yes." Hailstorm nodded. The extra gesture only seemed to make his reply sound less honest. "You?"

"I guess." Winter stared at the sky above Hailstorm's head. He wondered if either of them would say anything longer than three words.

Another long moment passed. Then Winter and Hailstorm both tried to clear their throats at the same time. It would have been funny, if the tension between them wasn't as thick as a winter glacier. Hailstorm managed a forced chuckle. Winter only bothered with a cold smile.

"It's good to see you back," Hailstorm finally said. He paused, perhaps waiting for Winter meet his gaze. Winter didn't. "You returned for Icicle's trial, right?"

Winter nodded. A small, irritated sound escaped his throat.

"I have to testify." Hailstorm stopped and shoveled some snow around with his claws. "It won't be fun, obviously, but I want to help her."

Confused and frustrated with the conversation, Winter racked his brain for an excuse to leave. _This is really uncomfortable and I don't feel like talking about our millions of problems right now_ , though honest, would have been a little too harsh, so Winter went with, "Look, Hailstorm, I'm _really_ hungry." He flapped his wings for emphasis. "I have to go hunting."

"See you later, then," Hailstorm said lamely. He seemed sad.

Hoping fervently that he would _not_ see Hailstorm later, Winter nodded. "Okay."

Even without looking at Hailstorm's face, Winter knew his brother was upset. He was not sure how to feel about that, or how to feel about Hailstorm at all. He turned sharply, said a quick good-bye, and took to the sky to start hunting again. He flew fast, beating his wings so quickly that they ached, leaving his brother and countless new questions behind him.

* * *

Winter's hunt went surprisingly well. He didn't even have to fly down to the coast. On his way there, while soaring low over the snowy forest, he spotted a burrow of rabbits. Though not a First Circle quality feast, it was a decent meal, and Winter felt a lot better by the time he returned to the palace.

He even decided to stop at the gates and inquire about Lynx. He recalled from last night that she was sometimes in charge of patrols, so it was worth a shot. "Do you know where I could find Lynx?" he asked the same guard who had greeted him three days ago. "Would she be out hunting now?"

The diminutive dragon shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes she goes for a morning flight. Or she could be sleeping in for hours," she said, then frowned and drew away from Winter, perhaps wondering if she should have told him that.

It dawned on Winter that his association with Lynx wasn't helping her reputation. The smear of shame on his exiled name would mark hers too. _Does Lynx care? No. Of course not._ Guilt settled in his heart. _But do_ I _care?_

He thanked the guards and hurried past them. Now he had a new predicament to keep him up at night. Wonderful.

On his way back to his room, Winter ran into two familiar faces: Alpine and Brisk. He recognized most of the dragons in the palace, of course, but most of them refused to be seen near him now, let alone be seen _talking_ to him. The pair of young nobles, who used to be friendly with Winter (or as friendly as anyone could be when competing in the rankings), offered their halfhearted condolences to him before rushing off to whatever respectable business they had in the opposite direction.

Winter watched them go and felt a new heaviness in his heart. Being reminded of his father's death was _just_ what he needed right now.

The world literally seemed to darken. Winter looked up and saw that there were now more clouds, some blocking the sun. Though most were still fluffy and white, there were patches of ominous gray. _Great. Another bad omen_ , thought Winter.

He decided to focus on the ground at he walked, placing one talon in front of the other, watching as his claws sank into the snow. This helped him avoid thinking about the whispering dragons and memory-filled places that he passed.

It also prevented Winter from seeing what was right in front of him. As he rushed toward his tower, he almost slammed into the furious dragon standing outside.

He stumbled backwards with a grumbled apology. Then he saw who it was, and his mind instantly cleared. "Sorry, Mother," he yelped.

She had been sitting there, waiting for him, but now she rose to loom over him. Everything about her rigid pose screamed _disappointment_ and _anger_. Her deadly, spiked tail was held aloft as if she wanted to smash it into her son's face. Winter tried to keep said face blank and respectful. He was pretty sure that he was failing.

"Where were you?" Tundra growled. "Last night."

Regret hit Winter like a blast of northern wind. _The dinner. the Northeast Hall. Icicle._ He stared at the ground and didn't answer. His snout felt like it had been wired shut. His wings drooped, defeated.

Though her expression stayed calm, Tundra raised her voice to a frightening pitch. "Where _were_ you?!" she repeated. "May I remind you that your sister is currently sitting in a cell, awaiting trial for a capital crime? Winter!" There it was again, that hissed-out name, her least favorite word in the world. "If Icicle dies, it will be _your_ fault for not aiding our plan."

"I'm sorry," Winter said. His voice was ragged and quiet with sincerity. Complex as his feelings toward his family were, he knew he should have taken this one chance to reconcile with them.

So why hadn't he? What had happened last night, what had Lynx made him feel, that made him fly away from that chance?

"After everything this family fought for," Tundra hissed, "how dare you turn your back on it?" She let her tail lash behind her. "And your own mother. What are you, a lawless NightWing?" She stalked toward him accusingly. "I raised you. I helped you even after you ruined yourself."

Winter felt a sudden, defiant flash of rage. He wasn't just angry at Tundra; he was angry at himself for letting her words get to him. Paradoxically, this thought only made him even more upset. Emotion welled up inside him until nothing, not even years of being trained to obey, could hold it back.

"No!" he cried, his voice shaking, "you didn't! My whole life, I've been trying to make you happy. You and Father, the two dragons who tried to have me killed. Who tried to make Hailstorm a murderer. All for your _honor_. What honor comes from killing your own son? What kind of dragon _does_ that?! You - you claim to care about us. But you've done nothing but hurt us, and...and raise us to be cruel like you." He stepped back and spat out the final, freezing words, "If you think it's honorable to be heartless, if that's all you really care about, then leave me alone!"

Tundra remained quiet and calm for most of his tirade. Then, at his last, stammered statement, her mask finally broke. Her face twisted into a snarl and she glared back at him. Her sapphire eyes, as blue as IceWing blood, were all at once shocked, wounded, disgusted, and deeply, unfathomably sad.

In a sharp, stunned movement, Tundra unfurled her wings and turned up her head. Her talons were trembling. "My son would never say that," she hissed.

Winter knew, with a slowly sinking certainty, what she meant.

Tundra spun around. Her face obscured by the billowing white of her wings, she said, "I do what I must for my family. A dragon like you could never understand." She took off without looking back, and the quiet rage in her voice seemed to linger long after she left.

Winter, newly disowned, stood alone in a courtyard full of snow. _What did I just do? WHAT did I just do?_ He shuffled forward numbly. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest, only for another, heavier one to be dropped right on top of him.

He looked hopelessly to the sky, and saw that the gray clouds had grown darker.


	5. Plummet

Winter rose early the next morning. His sleep had been restless and, thankfully, dreamless.

He winced as he stretched his wings and neck. Much as he hated to admit it, he missed the soft bedding in his old room at Jade Mountain Academy. The constant musings of his former roommate, on the other talon, he did not miss at all. Or he told himself that he didn't.

 _At least it's nice and quiet here_ , he decided. _Quiet enough for me to hear myself think._ Unfortunately for Winter, his thoughts were not exactly full of sunshine and rainbows at the moment. He sat in silence, and soon realized how depressing the quiet really was. "Nice and quiet," he muttered bitterly, just to hear the sound of something. "Quiet enough for me to hear the sound of my life snapping apart."

On that melodramatic note ( _Three moons,_ he thought, _Kinkajou would have mocked me about that forever_ ), Winter looked to the window and saw that the sky still shifted with shades of deep, stormy gray. There would be no beautiful sunrise today.

"Well, isn't that just wonderful," he said to his room's complementary ice sculpture. The lopsided bird did not reply, much to Winter's relief.

 _I'm talking to the decor now._ Winter frowned. It was time for him to get some fresh air.

* * *

Gloomy, dark days turned out to be great for morning walks. Winter wondered why it had taken him so long to discover this. No one but the servants and disgruntled, low-ranked guards were out and about in this weather, and all of them were too tired to gossip or glare. The veil of darkness didn't bother Winter at all; his night vision had become quite good on his trips to the lower circles, where there were no fancy, magical lights.

That thought gave Winter an idea. He made his way toward the tree of light, admiring the brooding sky as he went.

He told himself not to think about Icicle or Hailstorm or his mother. This naturally made him think about all three of them constantly. Their faces - Icicle's disdainful, Hailstorm's sad, Tundra's enraged - blurred together in Winter's mind, a pale flurry. Who needed ghosts, when living dragons were just as good at haunting?

The Moon Globe Tree, Frostbite's gift in the age of animus magic, still glowed as bright and beautiful as ever. Winter sat below its branches, hoping to find some comfort in its familiar glow. He studied the carved ice that made up its trunk, comparing it to the patterns that decorated his room. It was not as detailed, yet there was something timeless and elegant about it that made it oddly breathtaking.

Gazing up at the cold light of the enchanted lamps, Winter wondered what their maker had thought when she placed them there for the first time. _A piece of her soul._ Like most of the Ice Kingdom's beautiful things, this had been hatched out of pain. Winter's tail flopped listlessly in the fresh snow. This was not as nice as he thought it would be.

Winter stretched his wings, and noticed how the light gleamed silver on his white scales. Silver as the moons.

He felt a sick twist in his stomach. He wanted to leave, but he couldn't force his talons to move, couldn't even look away from the cruelly beautiful lights. He was frozen as firmly as the base of the ice tree. His wings slackened and fell limply at his sides. Standing in the shadow of the towering tree of light, in what had once been his favorite place in the world, he suddenly felt very small and insignificant.

He couldn't help it. He remembered.

_Moonlight was silver on his scales, iridescent green on hers. His smile was cold and forced, hers warm and natural. Even now, as she prepared to say good-bye, it looked genuine. Maybe it was. Maybe she was glad that he was going._

_No. She was sad. He saw it in her expression, in those sea green eyes that were so oddly breathtaking. For a dragon who could see into the thoughts and feelings of others, she was ironically bad at hiding her own._

_He wished he could make her smile a real smile. He wished he could make her laugh. He wanted to see the shining scales around her eyes shift as she grinned, wanted to see her starry wings fluttering in delight. But here they were, exchanging hasty farewells, sad smiles painted on both of their faces._

_"Good luck," she said, "in Sanctuary."_

_He wanted to wish her good luck too, in whatever she did at Jade Mountain Academy. He wanted to ask her what she was planning, and whether or not she would visit him. He wanted to let out all the burning questions that had driven a wedge between them, and demand answers about what had happened to Darkstalker._

_He wanted to tell her that those answers, however awful they were, couldn't change how he felt about her. He wanted to open up his heart, which had already cracked considerably, and let out all the confusing chaos - good and bad - inside of him._

_"Thanks," he said._

_Then they said their good-byes. Then she was gone._

_As he flew off, leaving behind Jade Mountain and all that could have happened there, the three waning moons turned his white wings silver._

There had been a time when he hoped to bring her here. He had dreamed of it, traced the scene over and over until it seemed almost real, almost a memory.

He would have led her through the IceWing palace, shown her every pretty courtyard and enchanted animus gift, then ended the tour beneath this beautiful tree. He would have tried to say something cool like "But you're the best moon of all!" It would have made him sound like an idiot. He would have been fine with that because he would have heard her wonderful laugh.

Winter shook himself and glowered up at the lights, which glowed on peacefully. It was a waste of time to think about what he _would_ have done. And Winter had already wasted so much.

* * *

Winter headed back to his room in a miserable mood. He was rather annoyed to find a servant dragon standing outside of his door. _What now?_ he thought. _Summons from Snowfall? News of the trial? Another excuse for the universe to slam me into the ground?_ Hoping to get whatever it was over with as soon as possible, he stalked up to the dragon.

"Another message," the gray-eyed dragon said. He recognized her as the same servant who had delivered Riptide's letter a couple days ago.

Winter snatched it from her a little too viciously, causing her to cringe fearfully. Calming himself, he tucked the scroll under his wing and dipped his head in a half-hearted apology. "Thank you."

He opened the door without paying her a second glance, and was surprised when the servant reached out and tapped his wing. He turned. _Did I do something wrong?_ He hoped he had not forgotten so much of his old IceWing etiquette that even servants were offended by him now.

"Sir, wait," said the dragon very quietly. Winter shifted uneasily at the respectful title. "Sir," she said again, "we're not all against you. I know it seems like it, but that's just the First Circle dragons. Us common IceWings, we look up to you. We want things to change. It was brave, leaving the tribe and helping the lower circles. You won't forget about us, will you?"

He forced on a small smile and nodded to her, hoping to convey a sort of promise. "Thank you," he repeated, sincerely this time, "uh…"

"Boreal," she offered. He reached out to shake her talon. She did not seem to notice. Instead, she bowed to him, the gesture now much more meaningful than before, and scurried off down the winding stairs.

Winter suddenly, awkwardly remembered that the servant dragons were not nameless faces - they had their own lives, their own secret hopes. And some of them were on his side. While that thought put some pressure on Winter, it was also reassuring. He did not feel quite so alone anymore. A bit of his misery lifted, allowing him to stop agonizing over the many wrong turns he had taken.

 _I did the right thing. I can't keep regretting my choices_ , he told himself. As he shut the door, he felt a surge of new energy.

His confidence vanished as soon as he looked down at the letter.

* * *

_Dear Winter,_

_Hello! I know it's been months since we last talked face to face. I'm sorry I didn't write. You're doing okay, right? Please write back, and tell me how you've been. It's silly, but I worry about you sometimes. I wish we still had our winglet. Not that my new winglet is bad._

_I hope we'll meet again soon. I'm going to Sanctuary. We leave tomorrow, Qibli and I. We'd really like to check out everything you guys have worked on._

_Riptide told us you're in the Ice Kingdom. Will you be back soon? We can extend the visit. We really want to see you. It's been so long. You don't have to come, but I'd really appreciate the chance to talk._

_Your friend,  
_ _Moon_

Seventeen sentences. As Winter read and reread them, he paced his room. His tail lashed wildly, miraculously missing all the priceless things that he could have smashed without a care.

His eyes were glued to the letter. Its curly, messy writing struck him like a claw in the chest, tearing open an old wound that had not even healed in the first place. Even without the name signed at the bottom of the scroll, he would have recognized that writing. He knew it, knew _her_ , too well to ever forget it. He had not expected it to hit him so hard, yet it slammed into him with the force of a winter gale.

He had to reply. He sat down his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment.

_Dear Moon,_

_Hello..._

That seemed wrong. He crumpled it and started again.

_Dear Moon,_

_Thank you..._

That wasn't right, either.

_Dear Moon,_

_Unfortunately, I can't…_

No, he couldn't send her that. He balled it up and lobbed it at the wall.

_Dear Moon,_

_My life is falling apart and I don't want to bother you because talking is really weird after you chose…_

Sighing, Winter discarded yet another try. Honesty was definitely _not_ the best policy here (was it ever?). He scowled down at his last four attempts, all wadded up on the floor. _I'm just wasting paper now._ He began to pace again, mulling over what to write. After a while, he went back to his desk, reread Moon's letter for what must have been the hundredth time, then went back to pacing.

He was still at it when he heard a soft knocking noise. He stopped, blinking, and turned toward his door. How long had he been pacing and muttering? _What a sorry state I'm in_ , he thought, trying to shake himself out of the haze that still gripped him. He hurried over to the door and opened it, eager for someone, anyone, to distract him from the letter.

That someone turned out to be Lynx.

For a moment, Lynx paused, taken aback by Winter's expression, then she resumed her cheerful smile. Winter stepped aside to let her in. She entered, her dappled wings shifting. Winter couldn't help staring at the deep blue that speckled her scales. Had he ever told her how pretty she was? Should he?

"Lynx," Winter said. Usually, her name sounded sweet and familiar. Now it felt strange in Winter's mouth. "It's...it's great to see you."

Lynx eyed his collection of mangled papers with curiosity. "Busy morning?" she asked.

Winter bashfully swept them aside with his tail. "Just writing to friends," he explained, "or trying to." He glanced at his writing desk, where Moon's letter still waited, unanswered. Looking back at Lynx and trying for a smile, he asked, "How's yours going?"

"Boring, as usual," Lynx sighed, her brow cocking conspiratorially as she edged toward him. "Now I aim to fix that! I was thinking we could fly down to the ocean today. We'll freeze our scales off, but it'll be fun! Just like when we were little. Will you?" She grinned and nodded toward the door. Her tail brushed against Winter's, and he noticed how close they were. "Come on, Winter," Lynx said. "Come with me!"

Something sharp and sudden rose up in Winter, squeezing his throat shut before he could say yes.

"Winter," Lynx started, leaning forward. Her dark eyes shined, happy and hopeful. Maybe she was going to throw her wings around him. Maybe she was just flaring them excitedly. Either way, Winter flinched away from her, stepping back so quickly that he almost stumbled. Lynx's grin melted. "What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"I can't." The words were a bitter echo. Winter met Lynx's confused, worried gaze. He wondered if she could read his shame and fear, which he was trying so hard to hide, in his own eyes.

Lynx frowned and moved away from him. Now they were a safe, respectable distance apart.

"Oh. I'm sorry." She looked away. Her freckled face became guilty, crumpling like the letters that Winter had tossed aside.

It pained Winter to see her so embarrassed. He desperately tried to sort out his torn, tangled emotions, to put them into words that would bring back Lynx's infectious joy. "No, no, I didn't mean..." He swallowed. The lump in his throat only grew. "I like you, really." _I might even love you._ "I mean, we're really good friends..." _You're my best friend_. "...and I thought..." _I thought I loved you._ "I used to think..."

He was standing across from Lynx, but all he could think about was _her_. The dragon he had tried so hard to forget. The dragon who had walked in his dreams, left her talon-prints all over them. Who had left her mark on his heart as well. _Moonwatcher._

He thought back to a moment in Possibility: his decision to leave for the Ice Kingdom. It seemed like so long ago. He remembered the ache of the hot desert air in his lungs. He remembered Moon's smooth scales, shining in the light of the setting sun. He remembered the pain written on her face, in her voice, in her wet eyes. He had hurt her. After everything new and wonderful that she had given him, he had hurt her.

Helpless, Winter stared at Lynx. What was he supposed to do, supposed to say, to her now? What unspoken words would he regret? All he knew was that he did not want to hurt her.

"I should go," Lynx said, clearly upset that she had made her friend so uncomfortable. She rushed out of the room, leaving the door ajar. Winter didn't try to stop her. He still couldn't speak.

The sound of her quick steps down the stairs faded. Winter was left alone with an open letter, an open door, and the crushing emptiness of silence.

* * *

That night, the temperature plummeted. No snow fell yet. Clouds continued to smother the stars.

Winter, unable to sleep, sat awake and watched frost creep across his window. He almost wished that he was still angry and hateful and sad inside, because now, somehow, he felt even worse. Exhausted, confused, and terrifyingly numb.

He still had not answered Moon's letter, or gone to explain himself to Lynx.

_I might even love you._

He tapped on the window's thick glass, his claws light with disinterest, and wondered why the darkness outside didn't just swallow him whole.


	6. Two Storms

Winter awoke to the sounds of a storm: the howling of snow-choked wind, the clatter of hail, the sobbing rhythm of rain. He sleepily stumbled over to the window to observe the sky's rage. The heavy, black-gray clouds had finally burst, delivering their long-awaited tempest.

Thanks to some animus that Winter didn't remember or care about, the IceWing Palace's delicate architecture was magically protected from weather like this. Its inhabitants had already settled in for the first of many long, boring days, waiting out the worst of the storm in the safety of their rooms.

The young, restless dragonets were probably whining about the plans they had been forced to cancel. The old, withering nobles were probably complaining about the young dragonets. Outside of the palace, the commoners were probably worrying for their lives.

Winter watched as the storm hurled its worse at his window. Water and ice both poured down relentlessly. The sky wept with cold, wet fury. Even through the thick, ice walls, he could hear the wind outside. It screamed with abandon, reminding him of every storm that had ever terrified him in the past.

He tried to breathe deeply, but his lungs rebelled, refusing to take in any of the cold, storm-sharp air. A panic seized Winter, and grew and grew until he thought he would faint. Darkness clawed at the edges of his vision. His chest ached and his wings felt like lumps of lead on his back.

 _Pathetic_ , he thought. _Three moons, I'm pathetic._

How long he stood there, paralyzed before the sight of the shrieking sky, Winter didn't know. Eventually the storm began to abate. The sleet stopped, leaving only the rain, which was still quite vicious, and the winds calmed to more of a sigh than a scream. Winter knew that this was only a temporary respite. Soon the storm's second torrent would come, longer and louder and colder than the first, and the world would become even more chaotic than before.

He went and slumped unceremoniously across his little ledge, hoping to nap through the brief peace. He felt strangely dizzy and disconnected. Maybe he was just tired. No sooner had he shut his eyes and hoped for sleep, when he heard a loud pounding sound. Winter knew it all too well now.

Someone was at the door.

Winter didn't rise. He stared vacantly, hoping that it wasn't Lynx. Then he hoped that it _was_ her. Then he put his talons over his face and wished he no longer existed so that he wouldn't have to confront whoever was waiting for him.

"Winter?" called a familiar voice.

Hailstorm.

Winter dragged himself over to the door. He stared at it for a moment, wondering whether or not he should open it. He decided not to. "Leave me alone," he snarled, trying to make his words cold and venomous. Instead, they just sounded tired.

Hailstorm knocked again, even louder than before. Winter flinched at the sound. Already regretting his actions, but unable to stop them, he opened the door. It swung open with an ominous creak, and Hailstorm, his white wings still dripping from flying through the rain, stepped carefully into Winter's room.

* * *

"What do you want?" Winter snapped at his brother.

His brow creasing at Winter's less-than-warm welcome, Hailstorm went to stand by the window. He did not meet Winter's gaze. "I'm going to speak with Icicle," he said, "and I think you should come."

 _Me, talk to Icicle?_ Winter hadn't heard such an awful suggestion since Sunny considered a school-wide field trip to the Scorpion Den. _The last time I saw Icicle, she asked me to kill another dragon. The time before that, she tried to kill me._

"That," Winter said flatly, "is not happening."

Hailstorm shrugged as if he had expected this. His nonchalance, which Winter had once envied and imitated, was now incredibly infuriating.

"Why don't you go talk to _Snowfall_ instead," Winter growled, brazenly dropping the queen's title. "Better yet," he added, hoping to get under Hailstorm's scales, "just spend the night in her chambers, since you're so fond of her now!"

Hailstorm's tail twitched, but he did not respond to Winter's taunt. _Why won't he go away?_ Winter thought. _The one time I actually_ want _someone to abandon me, and he won't._

The brothers both stared at each other for a few seconds. A stalemate. Then Hailstorm finally relented and spoke.

"I am _trying_ ," Hailstorm said, with the classic calmness of IceWing irritation, "to save Icicle's life." He tilted his head back, as if searching for help in the labyrinth of designs that decorated the ceiling. "What have you done to help? Are you ever going to visit her? Will you even come to her trial?"

Winter's only reply was a glare. He had already gotten this speech from his mother, but this time, he wasn't shaking and scared. Now he was just annoyed.

And, truth be told, he didn't know the answer to any of Hailstorm's questions.

Hailstorm turned to look out the window. Though he couldn't see his brother's expression, Winter guessed that it was glum. The storm had begun to pick up again. Sleet continued to pour down outside, pelting the thick glass with heavy, painful sounds.

"You shouldn't lock yourself away like this," Hailstorm murmured. "You can't, Winter. You'll drive yourself mad." His head tilted thoughtfully. "Please. We need you out there."

A little snort escaped Winter's snout. He almost laughed. How many times had dragons told him that they needed him? And how many times had anyone ever been there for _him_ , when he needed them most? He felt a cold squeeze in his chest. The panic was returning.

"We?" Winter asked. The word snapped dangerously like a breath of frost.

Hailstorm's voice became full and strong. He still didn't turn. "Our tribe. Our family."

This time, Winter did laugh, and it sounded shockingly spiteful and cold. He suddenly felt sick. He wondered how the laugh of a different dragon, someone old and lonely and empty, had gotten inside of him.

"Last time I checked," Winter growled, "I left this tribe and was disowned by my family."

Peering intently at the swirl of the storm, Hailstorm shook his head. "You'll always be an IceWing. You can fly off the edge of the world, and this kingdom will still be part of you." He sighed. "Same with this family. We're frozen together, whether we like it or not. We're stuck in this mess until the end."

"This mess?!" Winter didn't recognize the shrill, angry voice that was coming out of his own throat. "You mean _your_ mess? Who was Icicle trying to save? Who did our parents try to give my rank to? Who refused to answer any of my letters, even after I - "

"I know!" Hailstorm whipped around to face Winter. He threw his wings out, and the left one slammed into the pedestal that held the glass tern. The bird fell to the ground and shattered loudly.

Immediately, Winter remembered that moment during the Diamond Trial, that flash of doubt and fear when he had truly believed that his brother was going to run a spear through him. He jerked away from Hailstorm, startled.

"I know it's my fault," Hailstorm snarled. "I know Icicle did it all for me. I know I signed up to kill you. I know, I know, I _know_! Three moons, will you stop reminding me?!"

Winter lurched forward, then stepped backwards. He said nothing. He looked down at his talons.

His older brother stared at him for a moment, teeth bared, eyes wide, glittering white wings still flared. Then, seeming to calm down, Hailstorm turned away again. "Will you stop _hating_ me for it, Winter?" he asked. His voice became quieter, but still had an edge to it.

Not knowing how to reply, Winter glanced up at Hailstorm. Then he looked at the floor, at the ruined bird. Its head had broken off. Its wings lay in scattered in countless little pieces.

Hailstorm stooped down and started picking up the shards of the broken sculpture, placing them in a sad pile with his shaking talons. "Sometimes… sometimes I still feel like I'm - " Hailstorm stopped, his head dropping even lower. "I just want my life back. I want it to be normal, I want, I want to be..." His face twisted itself into a deep, bitter scowl, one that Winter often saw in the mirror. "Nevermind. Ice and snow, I guess I deserve it, don't I? After I caused all of this."

Winter wanted to say, _I don't hate you. I don't think it's your fault, there's just no one else here to blame. I don't want you to hate me._ He couldn't speak. He didn't know what to do. The world within him seemed to unwind, unraveling like the threads of his damaged, purple rug.

He trudged over to Hailstorm. The crash of the breaking bird still echoed in his head.

He knelt down beside his brother. Meeting Hailstorm's eyes, he saw only the reflections of his own. Deep, IceWing blue. Proud, afraid, confused, angry, tired, sad. He tentatively leaned toward them, unsure of whether the right words were _I forgive you_ or _I'm sorry_.

"I love you." Winter wrapped his wings around Hailstorm.

Winter couldn't remember the last time he had said those words to anyone, especially to a someone in his family. He couldn't remember the strict, suffocating etiquette of the Ice Kingdom ever letting him say them. Not to Hailstorm, Icicle, or even his parents.

But now, as he said them, he knew that they were true. Behind all the walls in his mind and beneath all the bitterness in his heart, he knew that this dragon was his family. All he had left of it, in fact. And he needed his family.

For a few seconds, Hailstorm went rigid, stiff and cold as a dead body. Then he melted against Winter's shoulder, and the shorter dragon patiently propped him up.

 _I'm not alone_ , Winter realized. _I'm not the only one trapped here. I'm not the only one who feels lost and scared._

The two brothers clung to each other. Hailstorm's wings gripped tightly and awkwardly, like he didn't know how to properly embrace someone, like he had never really been hugged in his life. Winter didn't mind.

Once Hailstorm pulled away, Winter stepped back and studied what was left of the bird sculpture. He couldn't help recalling a similar sight: the vase that he had smashed after his outburst in the Night Kingdom. He had fled afterward, left his friends to clean up his mess without him.

Now, as he turned back to Hailstorm and took stock of the current situation, he realized why he should have stayed.

"Sorry about the glass," Hailstorm said. His gaze lingered on the pile of broken shards.

Winter shook his head and let out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. "It was horrendous anyway. Honestly, it looks better now." He tried to think of something funny, something that someone like Qibli would say. "It's abstract art."

Hailstorm looked like he was trying to smile.

The room became peaceful. Only the steady sounds of the storm could be heard, the rain pitter-pattering away, along with the occasional muffled thud of hail.

"Should we visit Icicle?" Winter asked, breaking the fragile serenity of the moment.

His brother winced.

 _Well, one of us had to say it_ , Winter quietly reasoned. He picked at the lavender-gray threads of the rug beneath his talons.

Hailstorm's voice became brittle again. "I don't know." He sat down and stared at the bit of embroidery that Winter had carelessly undone.

Stepping lightly, Winter went over to the window. The storm raged on outside, with no sign of stopping. Gale still poured from the heavy sky. Jagged white hailstones still fell amidst the diagonal rain. According to their parents, Hailstorm had hatched on a day like this, and been named for it.

"Tomorrow," Winter declared solemnly.

"Okay," Hailstorm agreed, with a trembling voice, "tomorrow."


	7. Three Stars

The storm raged on through the night and the next morning, trapping Winter in his room. It provided a welcome excuse for him to procrastinate on finding Hailstorm and going to see Icicle. Determined as he was to do it (Winter was nothing if not stubborn), he still didn't _want_ to. He distracted himself with another task that he had been dreading.

To the inspiring sounds of crashing thunder and clattering hail, Winter reread Moon's letter. Strangely, he no longer felt like this was going to smash his heart to pieces. Yesterday, it had been the most serious thing in his life. Now, it all seemed so silly. His life didn't revolve around a distant dragon, no matter how much he had once loved... and still loved her. Looking back, he wondered why he had ever let himself believe that it did.

The words to his reply had already begun to settle in his mind, alighting there like perfect, patient birds. Winter no longer agonized over it. He would write to her honestly. Freely. All he could do was trust was that Moon would understand and choose to embrace him as a friend, accepting all the contradictions and conflict that came with him.

 _And if she doesn't_ , thought Winter, a new sense of perspective calming him, _the world won't end._

As the sky began to quiet down and his plans for the day drew ever closer, Winter found himself worrying over much more serious things than his fleeting first love. Not exactly an improvement. "The world won't end," he muttered to himself as he folded up the now-unimportant letter and set it aside. _Whatever happens, the world won't end._

If only he could remember that.

* * *

"Ready?" asked Hailstorm, lingering in Winter's doorway even after his brother had invited him in. Hailstorm's expression was cool, scrubbed clean of last night's anger and fear, but he no longer avoided Winter's gaze, and Winter no longer saw him as a stranger.

 _No. Definitely not. Never will be._ Winter nodded grimly. He stood up from his writing desk, where he had been killing time by going through his Sanctuary plans yet again, and headed out with Hailstorm.

Winter led the way down the winding staircase, his nervous, quickened breathing audible over the faint sound of the wind outside. Hailstorm followed, calm and silent. The only words that passed between them were unspoken. As they exited the tower, Winter wondered how much time he had wasted waiting out the storm. Could it already be dusk?

The sky, still dark and stormy, offered no answers. Yet Winter saw that it had changed, ever so subtly. The clouds that crowded over the courtyard, more silver than gray, seemed to have cried themselves out. Winter looked at Hailstorm, who had also paused for a moment to study the sky.

"Last night was the worst of it," Hailstorm said decisively, pointing up with his wing. "Things should get better from now on."

"We'll see," Winter grumbled, and Hailstorm smiled a dry, feeble smile.

The winds weren't terribly fast or chaotic at the moment, though an ominous chill from the north seemed to imply that would soon change. The two brothers agreed, by a shared glance and flaring of their wings, to try and fly to the dungeons. They lifted off into the sky together, Hailstorm now at the lead.

Light rain fell on Winter's wings as he flew. A cold rush of air his face, prompting him to note how the temperature had dropped since the morning. He breathed deeply, inhaling the strangely intoxicating scent of icy, storm-stirred sky. _Lynx would love this,_ he thought. _Is she out flying now?_

Below him, the palace was uncharacteristically peaceful. No nobles swarming the courtyards or servants rushing through the maze of open halls. Winter looked to the gates, at the grumpy-looking guards huddled there... and recognized a familiar, freckled face.

The sight of Lynx, even at this distance, produced a painful pang in Winter. He hesitated a moment, unsure if he wanted to rip off the bandage of his friendship issues so soon before confronting Icicle. Then, thinking of Lynx's smile, he braced himself and called out, "Hailstorm! Hailstorm, can we stop for a second?"

Hailstorm frowned, perhaps suspecting Winter of getting cold talons and trying to stall, then reluctantly circled back to follow his brother.

They landed together just outside the palace gates, the ice-slickened snow crunching unpleasantly between Winter's claws. Lynx's wings jolted with surprise when she spotted the two of them swooping down. "Winter!" she exclaimed, with a careful, neutral glance at the other three guards, who had all stepped back with different mixtures of confusion and suspicion.

Hailstorm went over to the other guards, dutifully enduring their grumbling and glaring, to explain where he and his now-infamous brother were headed. Just going to visit their even more infamous sister in the dungeons; nothing about that could possibly seem shady! Winter was silently grateful to Hailstorm for, intentionally or not, giving him a chance to speak to Lynx relatively alone.

"Lynx," Winter started. The words in his head suddenly tangled, clogging up his thoughts, refusing to come out right when he so desperately needed them. Unable to keep his wings or heartbeat from fluttering, he opened his mouth to say something - anything.

"Wait, wait, wait," Lynx interrupted. "Winter, I'm sorry about... about last time." Her eyes flickered over his face. He tried to meet them, but she seemed to deliberately evade his gaze. "I was so excited," she explained, her voice thinning with embarrassment, "to have you back, I... I guess I forgot about how close the trial is. And how hard its been on your family." She stopped. Her speckled cheeks pinched in a look of regret. "I wasn't thinking. Please, can we just forget that ever happened?"

Winter blinked at her in surprise. "Okay," he replied, not sure if he could ever truly forget that complicated conversation but eager to move past it. Lynx's reaction left him humbled and dumbfounded. He had expected her to be bitter, or at least passively prickly, about his earlier idiocy. Now he saw that she felt just as confused and sorry as he dd.

 _I should apologize_ , he thought, _and tell her everything,_ everything _, so we don't have to deal with all this awkward tension._ Then, looking back at Hailstorm and the grumpy gaggle of guards, Winter decided those things could wait until they had a bit more privacy. Hailstorm caught his attention and, with a sharp stare, urged Winter to hurry up. Winter gulped and turned back to Lynx.

"I wanted to say thanks," he told her, "for speaking up for Icicle tomorrow, for helping me, for everything."

Lynx smiled briefly. It was a beautiful thing to see, even if sadness still shined in her eyes. Then she met Winter's eyes, and whatever she saw there made the light leave her face. "You'll be at the trial?" she asked.

"Yes. The Council won't let me testify, but I'll be there. To see how it goes." Winter glanced back at Hailstorm and gulped. "I guess we should get going now. I have to speak with Icicle."

"All right," said Lynx. "I'll... I'll see you later, then." There was a new wariness behind her bright eyes. But also, alongside it, a new understanding.

 _Good_ , thought Winter, with a feeling almost like relief. Whatever happened next between him and Lynx, he wanted their friendship (or... no, he wouldn't think that far ahead yet) to be built on honesty and trust. He would clear the air between them. He would not make the same mistakes as before.

As he said good-bye to Lynx and started off again with Hailstorm, he welcomed a new sense of confidence into himself. No matter how awful Icicle's trial proved to be, Hailstorm and Lynx would be there with him. He wouldn't be alone. Soaring after Hailstorm and glancing back at Lynx, he realized that he had never really been alone.

* * *

Winter flew after Hailstorm, trusting that his brother still remembered where the dungeons were, because he sure didn't. The IceWings had kept their prisoners far away from their perfect, polished palace ever since the ancient Queen Snowfox had decided her many enemies needed to be kept out of her sight. The last time Winter had seen the dungeons was when, many years ago, he had been assigned to guard their gloomy entrance as a punishment for some failure. His memories of the place were vague and dark.

The winds began to pick up as they headed toward the mountains. At first, Winter enjoyed the sting of the strong, icy air on his face. Then it turned from pleasant to painful, and his wings became tired of constantly fighting to fly. Hailstorm, whose flying skills were hardly any better than Winter's, shouted over the sound of the wind that they should go the rest of the way on foot. _What a great place for a stroll in the snow_ , Winter thought sarcastically as they landed on the harsh, rocky ground.

"We're close," Hailstorm assured him after squinting around at the snow and rocks. "It's just a bit further, over that ridge. You remember, don't you?"

"Yeah," Winter lied. He wondered how many times Hailstorm had gone, by himself, to speak with Icicle. The thought made his heart heavy. "How have you been?" he asked Hailstorm as they began their trek together. "Really, I mean. With the trial and everything."

Hailstorm shrugged. "I'm holding up." He paused, his eyes fixed firmly on the path ahead. "I think Icicle's come to terms with what will happen. We should too." He paused. "The kingdom's starting to crack. Things are changing. Queen Snowfall tries to ignore it, but a lot of the tribe is unhappy. I don't know what will happen, but..." He glanced at Winter. "But I think it'll be all right. We'll survive."

For a while, they walked on without saying anything, partly because the wind had gotten loud again, partly because neither knew what to say. Then, finally, the air fell still again and Hailstorm asked, "What about you? You never told me the whole story." His voice dropped sadly as he added, "Of what happened after the Diamond Trial."

So Winter told him. He summed up everything for Hailstorm, putting the story together piece by drama-filled piece: Jade Mountain Academy, his winglet, his friends, his ill-fated crush, his quest over Pyrrhia, the spell, the frustrating mystery of Darkstalker's defeat, the misunderstandings and mistakes made by everyone involved.

The truth fell out of him easily now, compared to when Winter had reluctantly told Lynx everything. Anger and sorrow crept in here and there - Winter couldn't help being a little bitter, but once he had opened himself up and spoken about it all, Winter also felt a bit better.

Hailstorm blinked and let out a bewildered whistle. "Wow," he said, "and I thought _my_ life here was complicated."

Winter snorted, appreciating the hint of sympathy. "Honestly, I don't feel _too_ traumatized, so I guess I should just try and live a normal life now." He sighed and squinted up at the still-gray sky. "Whatever a normal life is."

A breeze brushed over their wings, dusting their white scales with a thin frost. They crossed the ridge. Winter's talons almost slipped on the icy black rocks that jutted defiantly out of the snow. The entrance to the dungeons, a jagged-edged cave that cut into the side of a hill, was within sight now. Hailstorm said nothing but nodded toward it, as if Winter could have missed that dismal sight. He picked his way past Hailstorm and stubbornly stalked ahead.

In the darkness of the cave, a dim, lonely light glowed. Winter recognized it as one of the Moon Globes as he drew closer. He tried to find comfort in this little piece of beauty, a reminder of the Tree of Light. It didn't really help.

Hailstorm and Winter entered together, carefully stepping over the sharp rocks that bordered the cave like the teeth of a snarling dragon. Within the walls of the cave, the sound of the winds outside seemed strangely muted and distant. There were only two guards inside, and one was so busy reading some pamphlet that she didn't even bother to look up at them. Apparently the IceWings were so arrogantly sure of their dungeons' security that they didn't feel the need to post a bunch of soldiers there.

"We're here for Icicle," Hailstorm announced in his firm, stateroom voice. "I was granted permission to see her."

The nearest guard frowned at them incredulously, and Winter worried that, after coming so far, he would be turned away and told that some obscure law banned him from ever visiting Icicle. Then the other guard, the one who had been reading, set down her pamphlet and quietly said to her companion, "That's Prince Hailstorm. We're to let him in, Queen Snowfall's orders."

Hailstorm and Winter both gave the guards princely glowers. Muttering an apology, the first one jumped up and offered to guide them down into the dungeons. The other one picked up her pamphlet again and, pulling the Moon Globe closer so that she could resume her reading with its light, politely asked them not to take too long.

The floor of the cave had been swept clean and kept clear of ice. Its once-smooth stone was scored by scratches from serrated IceWing talons. The walls were jagged and plain, such a stark contrast to all the finery of the palace. The entrance to the tunnels gaped at them, narrow and dark.

Winter wondered how many innocent dragons had been dragged here for such "treasonous" crimes as speaking out against the First Circle. And how many were _still_ here, languishing below? While Hailstorm's thoughts were probably a lot less radical, his expression looked just as grim as Winter's.

As they headed into the gloom of the tunnels, where the darkness was split by barely enough lights to keep Winter from stumbling around blind, the floor became rougher, and slanted down sharply. The path only became tighter as they went on, forcing them to walk single-file, with Winter in the back (of course). The dungeons went deep into the hills, literally burying the kingdom's wretched prisoners under miles of rock and ice.

Every few paces, there was a small, barred door, a glimpse into the identical worlds of each tiny, windowless cell. The bars were of ornate silver, and the cells impeccably clean, but Winter shuddered to think of spending even one night in them. They were so small - not even wide enough for the inhabitants to spread their wings - and so barren. He was glad that most of the cells were empty. The few prisoners that he did see were slumped quietly in corners or curled into defeated lumps, as still as the statues that decorated the palace.

It was not a pleasant journey. The guard, to his credit, tried to be friendly. "I don't suppose you'd like to hear a bit about the history of the place?" he asked, looking back at his guests.

Winter and Hailstorm shot him twin glares that each could have frozen a SkyWing to the bone.

"Sorry," the guard mumbled, grimacing, and the group continued on in silence.

Finally, after what seemed like a century of squeezing through the gloom, they came to Icicle's cell. It was exactly the same as the others, and Icicle, curled up in the shadows, looked like all the other prisoners, at least at first glance. Seeing the shapes of her narrow head and long, elegant wings, Winter felt a painful jerk of recognition.

The guard rapped on the bars. Hailstorm called out softly. Icicle greeted them with a tired snarl. Raising her head weakly, she caught sight of Winter and froze. Her face slackened with shock, then twisted into oh-so-familiar anger, then settled with an expression of cold indifference. "Ah," she hissed, "Winter."

The temperature, already exceptionally cold, seemed to drop exponentially.

"Leave us," Hailstorm snapped at the guard. "I know the way back."

The guard hesitated. Then, confronted with three sharp looks from a family that had turned glaring into an art, he nodded, muttered a formal good-bye and bumbled off into the darkness. That left Winter, Icicle, and Hailstorm, possibly the three most miserable, mismatched siblings in all of Pyrrhia, alone at last.

"I'll be at the trial tomorrow," Winter told her. Fear turned his words clipped and mean.

Icicle shivered slightly, and Winter regretted reminding her of the trial. She studied him for a few seconds, then turned to Hailstorm as if Winter hadn't even spoken.

Her bleak face, broken now and then by a nervous twitch, was a thinner, sadder image of Tundra's. Now, in the shadows of the prison, her resemblance to their mother was more noticeable than ever, down to the proud, practiced pose and loveless gleam of her eyes.

"I did it for you," Icicle said, glaring at Hailstorm with a sharpness that didn't match her weak, shaky voice, "everything. I did it for our family."

Hailstorm shrunk back and froze for a moment. Then he replied softly, "I know." He extended a careful talon toward Icicle. "Thank you."

Winter thought back to what Tundra had said to him two days ago. _I do what I must for my family._ There was real sincerity in the way that Tundra and Icicle defended their actions; this was more than just an excuse for cruelty. They really thought that they were doing what was best for everyone.

But Winter still couldn't agree with them. He couldn't see why they would put everything, including his and Hailstorm's lives, at risk just for rank and tradition. _Mother was right_ , he realized, _I will never understand. I can never go back to living like that._ Their hearts ticked to a different rhythm, one that Winter's, so changed by his time outside of the kingdom, would never align with again.

Icicle took Hailstorm's talon in her own. For all the pain and hatred on her face, her grip looked gentle. Her gaze flitted to the ground and stayed there for a few heartbeats. Winter watched, a gloomy-faced bystander, as a peaceful moment passed between his two siblings. He found himself leaning in, longing to share it, then stopped himself. _Does Hailstorm still love Icicle?_ he wondered. _Do I?_

"And you." Icicle turned suddenly to Winter and scowled. Her crest of icy spikes flared and her narrowed eyes flashed with accusatory anger.

Winter flinched, shocked by how terribly her expression had changed. Cold rage flickered in him too - what right did she have, after all the awful things she had done, to hate him? His deep-seated pride and resentment returned. _She's the one who tried to kill me!_ Wasn't he the one who should be stooping down to forgive _her_? He half expected her to start yelling at him, and didn't trust himself to not yell back.

Then, seeming to calm down, Icicle paused. She glanced from Winter to Hailstorm and back again. She finally asked, in a defeated tone, "Why are _you_ here, Winter?"

"For you," Winter replied simply, echoing what Icicle had just said to Hailstorm. He, too, had calmed down surprisingly quickly.

Icicle snorted and shook her head in disbelief. Her eyes glittered. They were a darker shade of blue than Hailstorm's and Winter's. "After everything? Why?" Her voice broke in the middle of the word _everything_ , becoming little more than a defiant croak.

Winter nodded, knowing that this was the closest thing he would ever get to an apology from her. Somehow, he came to terms with that. He managed to forgive Icicle anyway. It was a strange choice. Maybe it was right, maybe it wasn't. He didn't know, and he didn't care. Winter wasn't sure if he loved Icicle, but he knew, with a sudden certainty, that he would defend her. He looked from Icicle to Hailstorm. _My family. They're all I have. And they're not perfect, but neither am I._

"You're my sister," he told her, reminding himself of that fact. "I have to be here. Whatever happens, I'll be here."

The glint in Icicle's eyes became fiercer. She released Hailstorm's talon, which she had still been holding, unfurling one wing and sweeping it around herself to hide her face. Winter realized that she was weeping. He couldn't remember ever seeing her cry before. But then, this week had been given him a lot of firsts. He watched as Icicle struggled to regain her composure. Even now, in the lowest possible place, she tried to act like an IceWing.

Hesitation choked whatever comforting words Winter might have said. Part of him still feared his sister; the image of her baleful expression on that day she had attacked him would be stuck in his mind for a long time. He couldn't bear to reach out for her as Hailstorm had. Not yet.

Icicle surprised him by reaching out with her own talons. She clasped her claws around two of the bars that separated her from her brothers. Her gaze drifting listlessly, she mumbled, "I…I'm glad you're here. Both of you." She gaze flickered briefly over Winter.

Winter nodded again, and leaned forward, and gripped one of the same bars that Icicle clung to. He was shaking nervously, while she was as still as stone. They stayed that way for brief, broken second, then Icicle recoiled and Winter backed away.

Hailstorm shifted, scratching at the rough, rocky floor, and stared at Winter and Icicle as if he had never seen them before in his life. Winter frowned down at the ground, also confused.

Behind the cold, narrow bars of her cell, Icicle turned her back to them. She wrapped her wings around herself and stared cooly at her reflection in the burnished ice of the opposite wall. Winter recognized himself, and his own attempts suppress panic, in her pose.

The conversation was over. He took a deep breath, turned to Hailstorm, and gestured with a flutter of his wings that they should leave.

* * *

Winter and Hailstorm were quiet as they headed back through the dark corridors of the dungeons. Winter's tail dragged, scraping coldly across the ground. He thought about Icicle, about the future and the past, about everything that he knew he couldn't change. He thought about Hailstorm, and noticed how his brother was also dragging his tail.

The two guards said nothing as Winter trudged by. Maybe they pitied him and his sad, strange family. Maybe they just wanted to get on with their lives. Winter glanced back at the shadowy halls of the dungeon that held his sister in its embrace. Then, letting out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding, he hurried to Hailstorm's side. They exited together.

Winter emerged, blinking, into the shockingly clear night.

"Look," Hailstorm said, "you can see stars now." He pointed with his wing. Above, the stormy night sky had cleared the just enough for a small swatch of stars to twinkle. Three, almost in a straight line, shined at the edge of the clouds. The Triplets.

The constellation immediately caught Winter's eye. He paused, transfixed. Three siblings, forever in formation. He shook himself and took another step forward, ignoring the little twist in his chest. Fresh snow crunched beneath his foot. Again, he felt a strange, unplaceable flutter.

Hailstorm was already in the air, flying back toward the waiting lights of the palace. Though he knew he should follow, Winter stopped. Just for a moment.

There, with his wings wrapped around himself, staring up at three stars that were so far away they might as well have been bits of dust, Winter felt something cool and pleasant stir within him, a feeling somehow foreign and familiar. Quiet and certain, perfect as the fleeting summer frost.

Hope. Not the cheap, dishonest sort that he had been trying to force into himself and rejecting from the dragons who tried to force upon him. A real sense of something that he could cling to, and keep in his heart, no matter what came next. It would get better. _It would get better._

Winter smiled. All around him, snowflakes were beginning to fall.


	8. The Letter

_Dear Moon,_

_I hope you like Sanctuary. We have been working non-stop for the past few months, and I believe it has become something to be proud of. Riptide does tend to brag, though. Don't believe_ all _of his boasting - his calamari recipe is disgusting._

_I'm still in the Ice Kingdom. I think I will be here for another week, at least. My sister Icicle's trial dragged on for three days and ended in a mistrial after it was discovered that some of the judges were bribed. My mother must have been at the bottom of that. I don't know how long the investigation will last._

_I'll return to Sanctuary once this whole mess is over. I would very much like to talk, to catch up after everything that has happened._

_How is Jade Mountain Academy? Are the classes less boring? Is the cafeteria cleaner? I'd like to see everyone again. Maybe I'll visit, after that tour of Sanctuary._

_I'm doing okay here. I have my own tower. It's in the middle of the palace. I wish you could see the view._

_I've spoken to my family. Hailstorm and I smoothed the ice, so to speak. We're not exactly MudWing sibs, but I think we're flying in the right direction. And my tribe doesn't totally hate me. I was afraid that I would be alone. I was wrong - there are good dragons here, IceWings who care about change._

_Honestly, Moon, I haven't been in the best place for a while. I haven't been myself. I avoided you and the others. There were a lot of problems that I had to work out. Problems that I shouldn't have brought you into, but I did. That was wrong._

_I've been angry for so long that it felt normal. It was normal, for most of my life. Seeing the world turned upside down really made me realize that. You helped me out of that darkness. I never thanked you for that. Thank you._

_And here, on my own, I've learned things. I let go of more of that anger. I learned about forgiving others, and about being forgiven. I'm not glowing with health and happiness yet, but I'm... better._

_I hope you are too. I'm glad we're friends, Moon._

_Well, this ended up a bit longer than expected. See you soon._

_Yours,_

_Winter_


End file.
